Not even a Sandpit
by Eowyns Entity
Summary: They say seconds are like grains of sand and if this is true then I hoard sand, I am a sand hoarder: For some shy, unoticed people life is only worth living for those rare special moments when your with the one that makes you truly feel. MM
1. Not even a sandpit

God the looks of shock on your faces! Someone actually paired Blaise and Neville? But how could this be? Who would even conceive of such a pairing?

Well my hand is up and I'm admitting it now, I LOVE this pairing for there are stories written about them in the hard to reach places of the world - well Adult fanfiction if I'm honest.

But Give it a chance, go on, for me?

* * *

I wash the soap from my hands and place the white, shiny plates neatly in a row on the draining board. Sometimes I envy them. Nobody expects anything of plates, rather the person who washes or takes care of them. They must be clean, they must not break – but the plates are not at fault if they do. 

I listen to the low hum of my grandmother's radio upstairs, soon she will be calling for her lunch, it's a Friday so she'll have a pumpkin pasty followed by half a chocolate frog. Tomorrow she'll have something different but yet the same as a week ago exactly…and the week before.

My point-is one loses themselves in routine, in the mundane, when there is nothing to live for except the briefest of moments, where the only time you truly live is in these moments.

So I carry Grandmother's lunch upstairs and I set it on the tray and watch as she shakes her walking stick in anger as the T.V says something she dislikes. Not the people on the T.V but the T.V itself. There are no people in a box – only lonely people believe this is so- I am not lonely.

* * *

Soft flesh gives for softer, hard muscle collides with other, harder muscle. Body parts caress and slide and meet and part…this, this is my life. 

I smell him all around me, that sweet smell of pine and sherbet. I feel his lips as they caress my neck and I gaze into eyes of azure blue and know I am safe and secure and dare I say loved in his arms.

He plunders me and invades my senses and body, as is his right. I am his to explore and invade, as he is mine to do just the same… and I will later, for we still have time.

Oh I can feel him deep inside and we are together in the sweetest and closest of ways. This is when I know he is mine! This is when I know that life is worth living. They say seconds are like grains of sand and if this is true then I hoard sand, I am a sand hoarder and soon it is the hope that I will have a beach of sand.

For right now my collection is not even a sandpit.

* * *

Yes there's more, yes the chapters get longer. 

Btw: If anyone's actually reading this I'll eat my iron and you all wanna see that so REVEIW!


	2. I wish I had my beach

Switch: WOW someone actually read it? I never thought anyone would as know one EVER thinks of this pairing, I only got into it thanks to a fic called 'A single white rose' by Lillian on Adult fanfiction – a must read if you haven't already. Anyway thanks for reviewing!

Enjoy!

* * *

It's hot today, really hot. I can see Miss Pumpernik's feet across the way as she sunbathes in her front garden. Gran says it's so all the neighbours can admire her youthful body – I say it's so she can catch the last of the rays after work. Granny despairs of me sometimes.

I always know when it's good weather before even stepping outside, there's a cheerful mood that seems to consume people when its sunny. Why weather that makes you damp and irritable is preferable to weather that makes you drenched and irritable when it rains is beyond me. But my plants seem to like it so I'll go along with it anyways.

I look up as I hear a screech above me. Swooping down is one of the most beautiful owls I have ever seen, though I see beautiful owls on a regular basis, but still it is extraordinarily beautiful.

I glance around quickly to see if anybody noticed. Of course they did, what are neighbours for-I do try and impress upon him the conspicuousness of beautiful and obviously expensive owls in our neighbourhood but it falls upon deaf ears.

Sighing I pick up my weeding tools and take the owl inside. It's time for Grandmothers bath anyway.

Washing the plates after dinner I think back upon the gift I received from the owl earlier. It truly was beautiful. A bracelet made up of a single silver chain with a rose made of slivers of emerald. Green, always green, Slytherin Green. He knows my tastes in jewellery are a little on the feminine side you see. But I can't help but think the gift is cheapened by the fact that he feels guilty for not contacting me sooner.

Cheap…as in devalued, achieved with little effort, Worthy of no respect; vulgar or contemptible…Inexpensive. I do not like this ideology of myself, but in a way it's true.

There was a note as usual and as usual I shall go to him.

These are the times when I doubt our relationship, if you could call it that. These are the times when I know I should move on and find someone who will love me openly, not hide me away in corners. No secret meetings that never last the night. No easy gifts to cover guilt.

I wish I had will power.

No I don't, I wish I had my beach.

* * *

It was wonderful as it always is, he worshiped my body as though I made of the most fragile stuff. But I hated how he had to leave soon after, hated how I was left like a dirty dishrag on the draining board.

Left out to dry.

He kissed me apologetically and tells me he will contact me soon.

Sometimes I wish he wouldn't bother.

All the time I wish he would contact me sooner.

* * *

Hope it was ok. Plz review. 


	3. Bad day

Mistress Vamp: Then by all means read on my dear. Lol. Thanks for reviewing. Switch: Yeah well I never expected a huge response as this isn't a popular pairing or even one most people even imagine could exist you know. I'm glad you read the others and that I made you aware of them, as they are your favourite pairings.

Anyway. Enjoy!

I must apologise.

Yesterday was a bad day. I get them sometimes, when I doubt my life…well the times when I'm with him. The rest of the time I spend with Gran is not life-its routine.

My garden is life though, in more ways than one you could say. Flowers are fertility-I grow fertility. Strange that, I would love to have children of my own, a little girl would be lovely.

It's become more feasible now for men to have babies. There has been a lot of experimentation. At first the experiments were utter failures, a lot of test subjects died…wizards they were.

Now though there is a potion you can take if you apply for it through the ministry and go through thorough medical examinations and such. It takes a long time and there is only a sixty percent chance of success and there is a five percent chance of fatality.

I would consider it worth all of it.

Even muggles are experimenting with the idea of male pregnancy, only they use mice as test subjects.

Sometimes I feel muggles are much smarter then wizards. Magic is just a lazy way of getting things done and achieving what you want.

Never underestimate muggles. Considering what they've invented to exist without magic it would be a mistake to dismiss them as simple.

But I digress. I often do, Gran despises it, my ability to lose myself in my thoughts. Only I think she thinks that it's more simple things stump me than me actually thinking.

Neville she says, you think to much and work to hard, slow down a little, you look after me so well you deserve a break now and then, I simply smile and carry on, she doesn't mean it. She considers me looking after in her old age and keeping her out of the retirement home repayment for her taking me in when I was little. In a way I suppose it is.

He doesn't agree, he often tells me I should bung her in a home and live my life. Are you going to take me away? I ask.

No. He says.

Then I would not be living my life, I reply.

See I'm doubting again. I am unhappy with our arrangement…I know this, but what would life be like without it?

I'm reading some boring drivel by the gas fire and keeping an ear out for Gran in case she needs anything, when an owl taps imperiously on the window.

It can't be him, I think. He never contacts me so soon after a meeting-never the next day anyway.

Moving to the window I open it and give the owl a treat before taking the letter and sending it on its way. It won't move so I surmise it wants a reply.

Quickly I read it. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.

My dearest Neville.

Cecile and Courtney are leaving for Venice tomorrow, which means I will have the house to myself. I extend an invitation for you to come for dinner in two days time.

Please send your reply with William and I shall expect you at eight o'clock.

…

P.s. Arrange to stay the night.

I hate that, how he just presumes I will come, even though I know I will go just as he does. I am tempted to say I don't know just to piss him off…but I can't.

Quickly I pen the reply.

Yes…of course I'll come.

PLZ R&R


	4. Screaming

writtentypo809: WOW thank you! You seem to have completely understood the way I am trying to portraythis story! Meep meep Oh why thank you! I feel all flushed.

Thank you! Keep reveiwing!

* * *

I want to scream, I want shout and I want to get out and go far, far away and stop the anger and the need and the love. 

I want to yell at him and every time I picture his face I want to curl up and cry.

It is a bad night tonight, so bad. I can't stop thinking. I can't stop the thoughts running through my mind over and over again like a broken record…an irritating parrot.

Pirates have parrots, what if I was a pirate? I could sail far away and never tell him and he would worry. Would he cry? Would he pay countless spies to search for me?

Or would he carry on? Would he even notice I was gone?

Oh it is bad night tonight.

I'm so tired; I burnt the eggs and Grandmothers screaming that the house is going to burn down.

I want to scream back, I want to tell her to shove it! I want the world to sit my feet just so I can yell and scream,

Why am I so unimportant, why does nobody notice me? Cant they here me screaming!

I need to calm down, this is not life this so not who I am! But who I am is pitiful and week and I want my garden, yes my garden.

An owl is at the window and damn it grandmother saw it fly up to the house.

I slam the window open whilst my grandmother yells at me to tell her who it is from, it hops on the ledge.

Inside are instructions on how to get his house, he wants me to take the bus, any magical means can be traced he says and lets not forget you cant fly.

Oh really?

Well…I pick up my pen and right exactly what's running through my mind.

Fuck you Blaise, fuck you.

I sit in my garden and pot another mandrake. Grandmother's asleep and stopped complaining about the noise so I can think in peace.

But I don't want to think…but I do and I think about removing my earmuffs and allowing their child like cry to knock me out.

Another owl has come, I ignore it.

There are five owls outside the window and four hooting at me down the chimney, all I want to is sit with my fire whiskey and my book and pretend to read.

But another owl is tapping at the window and they're all following suit and I can't take the noise.

I read another line of my book and try to block them out.

The Bahamas have the perfect weather conditions to support the bellflower and this is where they are most commonly grown and harvested.

"Neville? What is that noise? Neville, oh god we're being burgled, you lazy boy get up, get up! Neville!"

The best time to harvest the bellflower is on harvest moon when they are at their most beautiful and the magic is at its most potent

Tap, tap, tap.

"Neville!"

Tap, tap, tap!

The best time to harvest-

"Neville!"

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Hoot, hoot"

The best time to-

"We're being burgled Neville! Neville!"

"SHUT UP!"

My book tumbles to the ground as I march over to the window and wrench it open. The owls are waiting to come in and I fling my whiskey on them and hurl my glass at the road and I hear it tinkle as it hits the tarmac.

All the owls rise into the air in fright and my grandmother won't stop screaming.

"Shut up I whisper to the night air.

"Please shut up."

* * *

Oh my poor Neville! Please review so his angst wont be for nought! 


	5. Owls

I know, I know it's been awhile so to make it up to you I'm posting two new chapters for you lovely lot.

Thanks to:**Switch**:Hello I'm so glad you like it and if you loveNeville then all the better, I meanfrom me to youI thinkhe needs some lovin' right now.**Mistress Vamp:** Yup he definately needs some help too -I would let you kiss himbut judging by your username your female so...perhaps if you took him by suprise?**Meep meep: **Thankinum, you know, its actually really fun being the first person to try out a pairing, on fanfiction at least.

I would just like to say that due to either my lazyness or a glich on fanfiction there hasn't been divides between scenes in chapters. I apolagise expressedly and have since altered all chapters except for chapter 4so that the scene are clearly indicated.

Anyway Enjoy!

* * *

I apologised to Grandmother by singing her old wartime favourites to her. She made me sing 'The white cliffs of Dover' four times. She likes muggle music.

She falls asleep as I sing the last note of the fourth rendition.

Quietly I sneak out and creep back downstairs, the owls are still there, I ignore them, tidy up my book and lay grandmothers breakfast tray for tomorrow morning before going to bed.

Maybe I should take up smoking.

* * *

There are three owls at my bedroom window and the other seven still haven't left.

I wonder as I carefully time the eggs and fry the bacon, if you can get owl repellent.

I'd spray it all over the outside of the house and then Blaise would have to find another way of contacting me.

I tell Grandmother I'm going to pop out and get some groceries. She doesn't like it but acquiesces when I promise not to be longer than an hour.

As I step outside I notice the owls have shit all over my garden.

I feel like crying.

* * *

I pick a video up for Grandmother, 'The Wizard of Oz' its her favourite. Moving up to the counter I see all the packets of cigarettes and scan them briefly. Embassy, it sounds worryingly like Emphysema so I move on, Marlborough lights look intimidating. Finally I go for a plain unassuming packet in black and gold. JPS it says.

I pay for them and at the last minute remember to get a lighter. Most people would light them with their wands. Not me, I stopped doing magic as soon as I left Hogwarts except perhaps occasionally to tend to my garden. I'm crap at it you see and Grandmothers worried I'll do something dangerous by accident.

Blaise doesn't understand, he regularly berates me about not having my wand on me at all times. How will you protect yourself he asks? I shrug and say, who would want to attack me? I have nothing.

There are fourteen owls sitting in the garden when I get back. When I walk up the garden path they fly towards me nipping and pecking and scratching. Hurriedly I run into the house and set the shopping down.

Pulling Gran's salami salad from the fridge I set it on a tray and put the rental video beside it and take it upstairs.

"Your back then, what have you been doing to yourself Neville?" She says. "You've scratched yourself."

I tell her not to worry and show her the video. She's very pleased and tells me to put it on immediately.

I'm grateful, I hate having my gifts rejected, she does that sometimes.

I go downstairs after settling her down. Moving to the window I let the owls in one by one and collect the letters.

All but one rejects my offer of food though they must be hungry. They viciously peck my hand instead. I wrap my hand in a bandage and settle down to read them in the back garden bringing my JPS with me.

The first letter reads:

What? Why did you swear at me Neville…what's wrong?

The third reads:

Neville I grow tired of these antics are you coming or not?

The last reads:

For god's sake Neville please, what in the name of god is going on? Please tell me!

The cigarette makes me cough and splutter and I'm glad I chose to do this in the back garden so know one can see and laugh.

Ah spoke to soon, as I said what are neighbours for?

If I take tiny drags it's better and I like the feeling of it hitting the back of my throat.

I am considerably relaxed and not a little light headed. I am also remorseful, sighing I pen back a note to Blaise with my sincerest apologies and saying if he still wants me to I'll come.

Now all I have to do is wait for the next owl to come along.

Perhaps another cigarette?

* * *

Hope the smoking part was realistic. It's going to become an escape for him you see so if he had thrown up he wouldn't have tried it again. Besides I didn't throw up on my first cigarette. 


	6. Red wine and caviar

A PLEA: Please if it's at all possible I would really like some longer more detailed reveiws, whether they be criticism or just bits about the chapters you liked. Of coure all reveiws long or short are highly valued but it would be nice if I could get an idea of what YOU thought of the story and then do my best to send the story along the lines people would like it to go aswell as where I think it's going. It often helps to try and incorperate parts of the story inspired by reveiws I often find.

This is a request not a demand, please do what you think best.

Anyway Enjoy!

* * *

The note he sent back was short and sharp:

_8.00_

He's angry with me, not that I blame him I haven't even given him a reason for my behaviour and I wont…at least not the real reason.

He does love me, I know this. Just as I know he won't leave Cecile and especially not Courtney. Stuck up pair of bitches though they are.

I have only ever seen pictures of them, in the Daily Prophet when it reviews a society ball, I don't look to long, I don't like to wonder what he sees in me when he has them.

I have organised for Michelle to sit with Grandmother tonight, she won't be at all happy when I tell her but it's obvious she likes Michelle really. She likes knowing what people our age get up to in the world today and…well I'm pretty useless when it comes to that.

Michelle is my very good friend. We met when I had a job, I worked in a garden centre-muggle of course but I loved it all the same. Muggle plants are easy to look after and sometimes boring but in the end they're still plants. Grandmother made quit, she said she was bedridden. I say she's lazy.

Anyway she worked there with me and is a witch too, luckily so no worries about the magical neighbourhood.

I wish I could stay and chat to her when she comes but its going to take me three hours to get there and I don't know how my tiny budget is going to allow for it.

Oh well guess I better to tell Gran.

* * *

I smoke another cigarette whilst waiting for the bus, if I hold my breath coughing is minimal so I don't look like a fool, although I do get some funny looks from the other people waiting for the bus. I think it's just me.

My best robes are in my bag. I bought them with my own money from when I was working. They are a nice brown colour and are made of a beautifully soft substance; I don't know what it's called. I like brown it seems to suit me…although no one ever buys me clothes in that colour, perhaps it doesn't.

But now the bus is here and as I get on I realise I forgot to change my jeans. They have soup all over them from when I broke the news that I was going out to Gran.

I think I'm going mad.

* * *

I walk up the wooded path to his house, I have only ever been here once before right at the start of our relationship.

I remember how we met; it was about a year after we'd graduated form Hogwarts. I was working at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour. He came in to talk to my boss about an order of ice cream he'd arranged for one of the Zambini's famous party's. He wasn't married then.

I was struck as soon as he walked through the door at how beautiful he was. I'd always thought so really; when we were at Hogwarts everyone was always so taken with the Slytherin prince Draco Malfoy's looks. Me? I was always taken with Blaise's.

But I couldn't be obvious about it, know one knew I was gay. I didn't fancy him or anything, I didn't allow myself to. I was struck now and then by how truly beautiful he really was.

But he had grown up and matured in the year since Hogwarts and I had a job keeping my eyes in my head and my jaw off the floor. I managed it by concentrating on replacing the old tubs of ice cream and generally keeping myself to myself.

I couldn't help but notice his gaze on me as he chatted with my boss though.

He ordered a lot of ice cream in the weeks following, where he put it or what he did with it I do not know…but gradually he started eating in and sitting at the counter, trying to make conversation with me.

I chatted back of course, it was expected, as he was a highly valued customer. The Zambini name had not been soiled by Voldemort as they had turned out to be surprisingly neutral. It must have been hard.

I snap myself out of my thoughts and cross the style that leads into the kitchen gardens. Of course I can't just walk up to the front door. I have to be snuggled into through the back like a guilty secret, which of course I am.

A house elf answered the door, she looks me over disapprovingly before informing me that I am to change in the first floor bathroom in the left wing, Mr Zambini is waiting for me in the corner parlour.

* * *

After a lot of wandering about I finally locate the parlour and steel myself to enter. This takes the best part of five minutes, as I am nervous. I hate it when he's angry.

Pushing the door open I see him sitting in a chair by the fire, it is still late evening so it remains unlit and an orange glow filters through the window due to the setting sun.

He has a glass of fire whiskey in one hand and his foot is bouncing impatiently, the room is eerily silent.

Without even looking at me he says curtly, "Would you like a drink?"

I shake my head and then state "no" in case he can't see me out of the corner of his eye.

He bids me sit down with a wave his hand and I do, careful not crease my robes. I sit on the edge of the chair, as if relaxing into it would make the coming conversation so much worse.

He stays silent and it unnerves me, I'm guessing this is the point so I look around at my surroundings instead, waiting.

Waiting something I associate with my grand mother, not with Blaise.

The walls are panelled at the bottom, the walls a becoming pink. The furniture is done in cream with stripes of the same pale shade of pink and there are bouquets of wild flowers in vases of cream on either side of the fireplace.

"My wife decorated it" His voice was unexpected and I tried and failed to hide my start of surprise. I hid better the pain of knowing I would never have that kind of control over his home life. Although I doubt I'd be any good at decorating anyway.

I clear my throat, "Did she?"

It explains the pink, although I quite like it, I've always pictured parlours as pink.

Silence falls again. I am really tempted to just yell at him you get on with it.

It strikes me that if my parents were still lucid, this would be the kind of atmosphere I would share with them when I had done something really wrong. My Gran had the same reaction no matter what the severity of my crime, explosive anger.

I feel weak; I feel like a child again, I wish I had the guts to-

"What was yesterday about?"

He surprised me again but still I thought about my answer carefully.

"I had a bad day."

"So you thought you'd take it out on me?"

Well who else would I take it out on? He is the main problem after all. I feel like saying.

"I'm sorry," I say instead.

He rises from his chair in one graceful movement, his hand raking through his hair, rougher than mine does when I stroke it.

"Fourteen owls Neville! Fourteen owls I sent out for you to ignore and leave out in the cold all night, one of them is sick and that will cost me a fortune to put right!"

"One of them is sick? I didn't mean to hurt them!"

That's what I get for playing a game I cant win.

"I know you didn't Neville, your to kind to want to do anything like that and don't worry it shouldn't be fatal."

He came and knelt beside me. "It's just you scared me, you've never done that before, tell me what was wrong."

I though about telling him, I really did. But if I did we'd just have the same old argument, so I simply said.

"I told you, I was having a bad day."

It's at times like these I know I am a coward.

* * *

We had tea in the dining room…only we didn't finish the meal. Mid way through the main course he had me on the table, my hair was filled with caviar and the edge of the table was digging into the lower part of my back but I didn't care, I didn't even care that I still had my shirt on and the red wine that we had been drinking had spilled over from the force of his thrusts and was staining it irreversibly.

Because he was in me and I felt complete and at this moment in time was perfect and I was happy with my sandpit.

* * *

Hope you liked. 


	7. changes

Thank you my wonderfull reveiwers!

Enjoy!

Please?

* * *

I am unhappy. I am unhappy with my life, I am unhappy with my family, I am unhappy with routine, I am unhappy with Blaise.

For isn't that the crux? Is this not my life as a whole?

I have spoken from the heart to you and I have been as honest as I know how. I live…no not live- I exist in this house with my grandma. I wake up every morning and cater to her needs. My every existing moment in the day and most of the night serves her purpose. There is no release.

Except in the form of Blaise. He says he loves me…but how much? Can I believe him when all he wants me to be is a dirty secret in the corner of his mind?

Hidden I am, for who would notice me as I walked down the street? Who would notice me when bought the groceries or weeded the garden…curled up and died?

I am so sick, I am so tired of this existence and this life and it is time…time for that dreaded word – change.

I have always admired Dumbledore's abilities to turn up just when you need him.

He turned up today…or well his owl did at least, flew straight through the kitchen window and dive-bombed into the kitchen sink along with half my grandmother's finest glassware. She screamed the house down declaring I'd blown us all to kingdom come and I laughed, I laughed so hard I got cramp. I laughed some more when I opened the note and found it to have a water repelling charm on it and that ever-famous signature of the headmaster himself.

Perhaps he meant his owl to go swimming in my grandmother's prize possessions?

Does it do that with everyone?

Anyway the letter read thus:

Dear Mr Longbottom.

Professor Sprout has unfortunately suffered a terrible illness and is in need of a much-needed rest. You as the top graduate for Herboligy Hogwarts has seen yet, are the most likely choice to replace her.

I respectfully ask that you come for an interview regarding your possible employment for the next year as Herboligy teacher at Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry.

Yours sincerely

Albus Dumbledore

* * *

Later that night I reviewed the letter, with it was a slip of parchment with the time of my interview should I decide to turn up. I sat with a cigarette for a long time- correction several cigarettes, looking over the parchment that held my future.

At first my reaction was no…no way. I had too many responsibilities, to many things holding me down. But then I thought harder.

What are my responsibilities?

My grandmother.

What's holding me down?

Blaise

My grandmother.

I want my existence and my life to change, I want more, and I want a REAL life!

Well then, what am I waiting for?

* * *

The interview went extremely well. I was already extremely pleased with myself…having apparated safely to the apparition point outside Hogwarts,

I left grandmother with Old Mrs Hillary from next door. I didn't even flinch when she chucked the ornament I gave her for her last birthday at my head and it shattered against the wall. I just told her calmly and quietly that I would be back sometime that evening and that I hoped she had a good day.

Her screams followed me down the street.

So anyway I sat in the headmasters office as he offered me tea and a cockroach cluster. I said yes to the first and no to the last, no offence to him but eating bugs – even if it's only something that resembles them – is really not my cup of tea.

"I'm glad you came Mr Longbottom, I know it must have taken a lot."

"Please" I smile " Call me Neville. It did take a lot of thinking and persuading myself but not as much as I would've thought surprisingly."

"This is good to hear," he smiles. As you know the term starts in another two weeks. Your quarters will be either in the divination tower, the quarters in the hut behind green houses two and three or on the third floor behind a rather flattering portrait of myself. Its your choice."

"What?" I fluster, "Haven't you got to ascertain whether I'd be a suitable candidate for the job?"

"Oh no need I already know your more then suitable." His eyes twinkle at me and I smile, he is so kind.

"Ok um, perhaps…the divination tower?" I ask questioningly, plunging in at the deep end and replying to the unsaid question as subtly as it was asked.

"Certainly!" He smiled winningly.

"Although of course I'll have the portrait if that's alright?"

"Certainly."

* * *

I sit in the garden at around nine thirty in the evening. I am sorting out my affairs, e.g. grandmother is to be cared for in the house by a live in carer and healer. I met her personally today and am certain she is responsible and that grandmother will love her.

The last thing I have to do…the thing I have to do now…the hardest thing is to contact Blaise and arrange a meeting. I have borrowed Michelle's owl, Humphrey.

I send him off with the note and relax with a cigarette. I have become quite proficient at smoking now.

All I have to is wait for the reply.

God how I wish it would never come.

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW! Tell me what you think, as I am not quite happy with this chapter. 


	8. I can't

The edited scene can be found on adult fanfiction under the name Eowyns elixure, simply type it in to the search box and look for Not even a sandpit.

* * *

I sit in the dark and dingy room, waiting for Blaise to arrive. The walls are a mustard coloured yellow, the curtains a checkerd orange and terracotta, as are the bed. It smells musty and the little white plastic nightstands clash horribly with the rest of the room.

My palms are sweaty and I feel sick, my heart is trembling and I can't hold back hold back the shuddering gasps of breath that escape my lungs almost as if they are going to collapse.

I need to calm down, I pace a while drawing deep shuddering breaths I need a cigarette badly but I don't want to stink out the room.

I look out the window, it is and uninteresting view. A limp looking tree and a plain tarmac road.

I remember part of a poem I once read,

The night air smells sweeter to me;

I often think that the day smells like greasy food,

Chip fat and frying doughnuts.

The wet tarmac of an unmade road and the dizzy fumes of many cars.

But night smells sweet and pure,

Of a hint cloying musk and travelling wind

And cold oh such refreshing cold

A perfect backdrop fragile stars

Peaking behind opaque clouds

But defeated by the pale opulence of the moon.

And as I breathe it sooths my bleeding heart as a cooling balm would.

I wish I had night air right now- or a fag.

He's late, he's always late do matter that little? Fuck it I'll have a fag out the window…it may improve the smell.

As I hang out of the window taking deep drags on my fag I check the time again, twenty minutes, he's twenty minutes late. I'm glad it's giving me more time to collect myself.

I hear the key go in the lock and drop the cigarette in shock. Quickly I attempt to do an air freshening spell but end up filling the room with steam. Managing to banish it I rush into the bathroom and wash my hands and clean my teeth just as he walked in the door.

I went out to greet him steeling myself for what I have to say but he grabbes me to him and kisses me thoroughly plundering my mouth and my resolve weakens. I figured it could wait.

Soon his fingers move to the buttons of my shirt but I stop him, this is for him.

I begin to kiss his neck, nipping him softly and then laving the small wounds with my tongue I move to his open shirt collar and begin to release the buttons from their holes as I run my tongue over his collarbone. He tastes salty and sweet at the same time and I cant help but moan as I uncover a nipple and suckle on it hungrily.

The moan sends shivers rippling over his skin and he tilts his head back and moans back in response. I give the other nipple the same treatment before falling to my knees to worship his naval as my hands fumble with his fly.

_Edited _

His head bowed and we stood there for what seemed and eternity before I grew limp and slipped out of him softly.

Turning round he grabbed me and we fell on the bed in a sweaty heap. It was a while before he spoke and when he did his voice was quiet and unsure.

"That was the first I…It-it was amazing." I looked away, how could I? What piece of scum was I to do that to him when I knew what I was going to do…knew I had to…

I leapt off the bed quickly, grabbing my trousers and puling them on. I cursed internally as I realised that left him at a distinct disadvantage – I never knew I could feel this bad.

"Neville?" He looked confused and I sat beside him and took his hand. Taking a deep breath I looked back up.

"Blaise… I've excepted a job at Hogwarts – as the herboligy teacher."

"That's brilliant Nev…finally your getting some independence!" His face fell, "But how are we to meet without…?"

I vainly tried to hold back the tears as I looked at his expectant face.

"That's just it we can't, Blaise…are you ever going to date me publicly? Is there a future for us?"

He frowned, "Neville you know I can't I have a family, a daughter I have responsibilities."

"Then I can't…we can't, o on like this." Got up and began to gather my clothes as the ears welled again and I faced the possibility of never being with him like this again, I had prepared myself but it hadn't fully sunk in.

"Neville please," he grabbed my hand and gazed at me imploringly, "Don't ask me to choose."

"I'm…I'm not, I'm taking the decision out of your hands. I, I can't go – go on like this Blaise" I stuttered as the sobs came thick and fast.

"You said I was your life." He said.

"You were but Blaise I can't live like this anymore, second best and hushed up all the time…I love you with all my he-art, but, but I just c-can't."

He leapt up angrily, "So what was all that about? What your last goodbyes?" He sneers, "Thanks but no thanks Neville, you are NOT leaving me! I decide when it ends not you!"

I shook my head as I pulled on my shirt and bent to tie my shoes.

"LOOK AT ME DAMN IT!" He grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him.

"Look at you this goes against your very nature, your pathetic." I reeled back in shock, hurt clouding my vision.

Turning I got as far as the door before he was on his knees before me, tears slipping down his own cheeks. "Please, Neville I'm sorry…please don't leave, please!"

"I…I have to…please Blaise." I sobbed before extracting my hand form his and rushing out the door.

I got as far away as two whole streets before I collapsed on the pavement, a pitiful wreck, his pleading expression uppermost in my mind.


	9. Settling in

Dedicated to Alorabrackenfor inspiring me to write this again. Sorry if it's crap I am having a few difficulties getting back into the style of it but I hope it's ok.

More to come soon.

Enjoy!

* * *

Settling in

It's been a month, a long, echoing, yet silent month.

I settled into Hogwarts quite happily, the rooms in the tower opulent and ample for my needs, to ample in fact, I barely inhabit but two of the rooms.

All my old teachers – minus professor Sprout of course, are still here, Professor McGonnagol who insists on having me call her Minerva, which I still haven't managed yet.

Professor Flitwick who enjoys hours of aimless chat before my fire with a glass of fire whiskey, I don't mind, I like him, although he doesn't like it if I smoke. However I endure the withdrawal symptoms and the aggro, he is a lonely man…I know what it is like to be lonely.

Horror of horrors Professor Snape still resides in his lonely dungeon, he is older now, and if possible crabbier. I dread the time when I must see him to discuss the latest needed ingredient for potions, he always sneers at the size of my shrivelfigs or the colour of the Gurdyroot.

Life should be fuller and sweeter now, and yet there is a hole, a huge, aching hole and it hurts so much that sometimes I wish it would hurry up and consume me entirely, for isn't that what holes do?

It's Saturday today and as usual I am half way through my second bottle of fire whiskey and am down to my last packet of fags. It annoys me when that happens because I have to apparate to the nearest muggle town to get more.

Although I'm better at apperating now, better at most things…better at living.

Who am I kidding?

* * *

There are several things I get on these muggle town trips including fags, for instance I've always loved muggle chocolate and for some reason their salami is particularly good.

I indulge myself with these little luxuries now, simply because I can, I do everything simply because I can…I wish it helped.

You see I chose this life because I didn't have one before, or well I had a pitiful one before, but now I see that it isn't a life, like living with my Grandmother it's simply existing.

Glumly I look through the muggle choices of alcohol as I make my way towards the checkout, I wonder what Bailey's is like, it looks quite cool so I dump it in my basket along with some rose. I think Blaise must have rubbed off on me when it comes to tastes in alcohol, although I doubt he would have brought rose at £1.99 a bottle.

I doubt he would have brought anything under £100.

* * *

I have a routine in the morning, a strict regime. I wake up at seven o'clock, I drink tea with fag on the balcony for no longer than fifteen minutes and then shower in twenty, dress in ten and head out for the greenhouses.

Yes…I know, I haven't got away from a life of routine, but I believe I'm used to it and it takes awhile to break habits.

There's a chill in the air in the mornings recently, I believe autumn must be setting in.

There's a small person waiting for me outside greenhouse three, I usually work there in the mornings so this is not surprising, It must be a student although they are so wrapped up in clothing it's hard to tell, although their wearing a skirt so I'm guessing it's a girl.

As I make my way towards them a cool little voice makes its way from beneath a rather large scarf obscuring half their face.

"May I come in?"

"Of course you can." I say puzzling over why she's here and holding the door for her out of politeness.

I like magical greenhouses; they are so much warmer then muggle ones.

I wait politely for her to speak, she doesn't and so I grow nervous, shifting from side to side until the silence grows unbearable.

In an attempt to hide my nervousness I move to my workbench and start to re-pot some pixie roses for Professor Flitwick.

Soon I grow so engrossed in my task that I manage to forget she's there, so quiet she remains. I think of Grandmother and her last spite filled letter, I think of the day's lessons and the difficult task that awaits me in the evening in the form of searching for moonflowers in the forbidden forest.

Lastly I think of Blaise, but only for a second, for I fear I shall die if let the pain consume-

It is with a start I realise the bell is ringing for first lesson and I look up to tell the girl she must go – but the door is already closing behind her.

* * *

I stare into my ice filled Baileys and wonder if perhaps I could stomach another glass. The balcony around me is already swaying and I am beginning to regret eating a whole salami sausage for tea.

I have lessons tomorrow but I don't care, what use in partaking in but one glass only to go to bed and lie awake trying desperately not to think and yet doing it anyway.

No use I think, swirling the glass and glaring at it blearily, much more fun to drink it all away and then fall into bed in a drunken stupor.

The stars are my only friends tonight, Professor Flitwick it seems, has found a better friend in the new Professor of runes, yet he still wants me to continue re-potting his roses…funny that.

In fact the only person who seems generally interested in seeking out my company these days is the girl who visits me now every morning, I did tell you about her didn't I…

But it's been a week now, and still the reason for her visits remains a mystery, she just stands and watches me, and you know it's funny because I've yet too see her face, or ask her name.

I down the rest of my Bailey's and lever myself out of my chair, time for bed, before I run out of distracting thoughts.

Ooh, no, no…trip to the bathroom first I think.

* * *

I don't think Professor Dumbledore's very pleased with me, rushing into second lesson half an hour late looking like I've been dragged though a hedge backwards is not the kind of example he expects his teachers to set for the children.

I got a strict telling off this morning and orders to retire to bed to sleep off the hangover. I was rather disappointed in myself too actually, that's the first time I've been unable to get up after a heavy night. That Bailey's is potent stuff.

So now here I am once again on my balcony just about to partake in a sample of that rose I brought. I'm hoping it'll be a little kinder then the Bailey's. Oh don't get me wrong I did sleep, that's why it's now about nine o'clock.

I pour myself some of the wine and am about to sit back and relax when there is a knock upon the door.

Sighing heavily and hoping to hell it isn't Dumbledore I make my way to the door and open it slowly.

My heart, my poor heart almost leaps out of my chest, I can envision it now, palpating on the ground in a pool of blood, silvery under the moonlight.

"I wondered where you were this morning sir, I came to see if you were alright and to give you some Honeydukes chocolate, I've heard it's good for hangovers."

I clutch the doorframe and gaze at her dazedly, can this be happening.

"Err…please…tell me your name." I almost beg.

"Courtney." She replies.

We gaze at each other, and we both know, know that the other knows and I feel like falling to my knees.

All this time, she's known who I am and she, she's continued to spend time with me.

After a time I find the words.

"But don't you hate me?"

Quietly she places the chocolate in my hand and turns to go, for a moment I fear she will leave without answering.

"You made my father happy…I was wondering if you would have the same effect on me."

She descends the steps and I watch her slowly disappear, until at the last moment when I realise there is a question left unasked.

"And do I?"

Her steps falter and I hear a pause… "I've yet to decide."


End file.
